The Holy Dark
by Fluffernutter8
Summary: Christmas and criminal capers in the capital. Of the United States, not the one from the Hunger Games. Oneshot sequel to The Inner Moonlight.


The thing about going to the theater with Logan was that he enjoyed it so much. And that was all well and good- she enjoyed it too, and it was nice to have some recreational activity that wasn't sex- but he was just so _giddy_ about it. Somehow, years after he had severed ties with the acting world, he still had insider information, and he always read the program cover to cover, nodding approvingly at past acting credits and pointing out who had tried Botox the day before headshots. The only good thing about these preshow rituals was the chance it gave her to open her snacks without his knowing. Regardless of his yawning indifference toward rules during their high school years, he was very particular about them in the theater.

It all would have been tremendously annoying if she weren't still in the honeymoon period that tricked her mushy brain into thinking it was adorable.

It had been eight months since Logan and Veronica had coincidentally run into each other again in upstate New York when they were both working, a story they could tell their friends. Bound as they both were by confidentiality agreements, they tended to avoid mentioning the specifics of Logan's job as a federal marshal and Veronica's former position with Truman-Mann. Or as she now referred to it, the corporate shuttle bus to hell.

"All that cash and they couldn't even spring for a car service to eternal damnation?" Logan had said over Skype when she had coined the name on her last night in her New York apartment. She was curled up in front of her computer wearing one of the marshals service t-shirts that seemed to breed in Logan's closet. Everything else but her moving day jeans was packed. The screen flickered, but just for a second, so Veronica could see Logan's questioning expression as he asked, "You sure you won't miss it?"

Veronica let the immediate denial resettle within her, and considered the question. She had enjoyed parts of her job: the victory of having thought three steps ahead of her opponent, the chess master maneuverings of technicalities, the spectacular paycheck. But in the end, the sick, sad feeling she got from what she was actually doing had been enough to induce her to get off the crazy train.

That, and she had almost accidentally been killed by a client.

"I won't miss it," she had finally told Logan, allowing a small grin on to her face. "Even though I'm probably on better terms with them than I am with anyone else who's tried to murder me."

Once she'd settled in DC, she didn't miss it at all. True, her new job with the Department of Justice's Corporate Fraud Task Force wasn't going to keep her in day of the week diamonds, but she wasn't eating beans or showing the landlord her feet in lieu of rent either. The DOJ had been eager to welcome a defector who could provide a window to the other side, and although there was more restriction on her creative interpretation of the law, strategy and the challenge were the same, only this time somewhere that didn't make her look to see if a Bond villain was lurking around the corner.

(Congressmen tended not to hang around her office, after all.)

Her move had brought her almost two hundred miles closer to Logan's home in Louisville, but it was still a long distance relationship. The first months had been a slow rediscovery of each other after their spontaneous, freakish meeting in New York. Although the encounter had proven that both their physical and verbal chemistry were still intact, it had been a little too brief to induce them to leap into anything. But after months of texting, emailing and skyping (and the mailed migration of parts of Logan's wardrobe into Veronica's) she had finally gone to visit him for a weekend in May. Since then, they had traded off coming to see each other about once a month, whenever their schedules allowed.

This time it was his turn, and things had been smooth for the first three days into his weeklong stay in the nation's capital. Until she had suggested a night at the theater.

Although the full moon had been a few days ago, it was bright when they stepped out, a combination of the remaining moon, street lamps and the Kennedy Center's enthusiastic Christmas spirit. Logan seemed to have caught it as well. Despite the crowd, he faced her and did a little shuffle-ball-change as he whistled Irving Berlin's "Sisters." His ivory shirt looked supernatural in the moonlight as they stepped farther away from the theater lights. It was a cold night and his hands were in his pockets, but his black pea coat was fully, pointlessly open.

"I know you're a southern boy now," Veronica said, her laugh echoing and sharp from the cold, "But you're going to have to learn how to button a coat. I'm not dragging your icicle self home."

"Why do I need to do that when I've got my love to keep me warm?" But he closed the center button to satisfy her, and turned so that they were walking side by side. He slid an arm around her, humming the song in her ear.

She pushed at him a little, just enough that he got the point but not enough to make him leave. "You're going to ruin White Christmas for me. And when my father wants to indulge in a holiday classic and I find myself unable to stand it," she gave an elaborate shrug, face all scrunched up innocence. "Who do you think he'll blame?"

"White Christmas cannot be ruined," Logan said, fervent as if he were defending the barricade. She suspected he was thinking of his mother, who had introduced Logan to classics both holiday and musical. She pressed herself against his side, tightly enough that she could feel it the second he tensed and then purposefully relaxed himself. "Hey, can you make it home okay? I need to go do something really quick."

She looked up at his face in confusion. She followed his eyes as they darted toward a tall man with a thin layer of light hair disappearing through the crowd. When the two of them had met, Logan had been on temporary assignment, so she was never quite certain what he did with the marshals, but from what she had put together, there was some witness protection involved. "Let's go," she said, not letting him pretend.

Logan paused, torn between regulations and his trust in her capability. Veronica knew it wasn't entirely fair to expect him to stretch the rules, but she also knew that he was used to working with a partner, and since the ironically nicknamed Mouse Ackerley was assumedly still in Kentucky, she was going to have to pinch hit.

(Pinch run? Maybe she would consult her father on the technicalities.)

She clutched onto Logan's arm, taking advantage of his indecision, and used it for balance as she switched from her heels to the foldable flats she had tucked in her purse. She jammed the discarded shoes into Logan's coat pockets, making them bulge in a seam-threatening fashion. "Let's go," she repeated and this time he nodded.

"You had room in your bag for the DC subsidiary of Saks but I have to carry the clunky heels?" Logan said, slightly annoyed but mostly distracted as he tracked whoever it was through the slowly siphoning crowd.

"I was a girl scout. I'm not Mary Poppins."

"You were never a girl scout."

"Well, Lilly convinced me to dress up as a slutty Brownie for Halloween once. Something sunk in."

Logan might have grown and changed into a shockingly mature version of himself, but the image made even him lose focus for a moment. He glanced down at her for a moment before moving his gaze up and forward again. "I have no memory of this alleged sluttiness."

"I changed my mind the next day," Veronica tossed back, "And went as Cinderella instead."

"Mmm." Logan rolled his neck just a little. "I remember that dress. A dream was a wish my heart made."

Veronica's tongue came out and she crinkled her face. "Gross." They came around the corner and Veronica started to laugh as she saw where mystery man was headed. "Speaking of which, looks like your friend over there is fond of the cliché."

A small sign on the building identified it as the Watergate Complex, but Veronica would have recognized it anyway. Logan sped up, heading for the distinctive semi-circle and pulling the guy back by his shirt collar before their reflections could appear in the windows.

"Remember me, Gavin?" Logan was saying when Veronica caught up. He was simultaneously shaking the man and drawing his eyes to the small marshal's star held in Logan's palm. Veronica wasn't sure how he had gotten it out with the shoes taking up his pockets. He tucked the badge away as Veronica came beside him.

"We met right after I moved to town," Gavin blurted, obviously the story he had been given in case he needed to introduce his marshal to a stranger. His eyes kept flicking toward Veronica, who wondered if she could volunteer to teach a workshop on proper presentation of cover stories.

Logan gave him another small shake before releasing him, a reminder to ensure that Gavin wouldn't run. "True, but I remember that being a town with a little less senate and a little more slugger." He had a way of saying the last word that made it sound physical, as if he had a bat ready to swing at Gavin's knees. "I know you just wanted to give that mistress of yours some holiday cheer, but your luck's somewhere else tonight." He ran a hand across the back of his neck, not relaxing, but not as menacing either. "And mine too, I guess, because this is just gonna mean a hell of a lot of paperwork." He pulled out his phone, but paused, looking over at Veronica. "How far to the DC office?"

Veronica thought quickly, situating the marshals' office in her mind. "Twenty, twenty-five minutes?" She glanced down at her watch, squinting past the flash of moonlight on the face. "My office is closer. We've got security, and it's almost eleven so it should be mostly empty."

Logan positioned himself on the side closest to the street with Veronica a few paces to his side. Gavin walked slightly in front of them, looking like a spindly, sulky toddler.

Keeping her voice low, Veronica said, "Would it be too easy for me to make a naughty/nice joke?"

"'Tis the season, I suppose," Logan said, feigning reluctance. "Although I do have one point of negotiation."

"What's that?"

"If _I'm_ nice, I get a little taste of Brownie later."

"You think you can be nice enough to deserve that?"

"Well," he took a tiny side step closer to her. "Even if I'm not, I'm already here with you, so I'll count my blessings instead of sheep."

She looked over at him in admiration. "You _are_ good at nice."

He smirked. "I know."

They continued walking toward the car, the moon bright above them and cold coming off the water, and Veronica knew that Logan had been right about another thing too: you didn't feel it when you had your love to keep you warm.


End file.
